


My Empire of Dirt

by cthuloops



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Basically every trigger you can think of, Bloodplay, Brief Mentions Of Rape, Human Lucifer, Knifeplay, M/M, Serial Killers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthuloops/pseuds/cthuloops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick's mother always told him unicorns were real. And when she sang away his nightmares, she told him that one day he would meet his other half. It's all bullshit... until he runs into Sam Winchester, the same psychopath that's been stalking him for three months. Maybe they were made for each other after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Empire of Dirt

_[December 24th, 2006- Caliente, Nevada] Nicholas Novak remains missing one year after his father and two older brothers were found dead in their home. Novak, 17, was a high school dropout with a criminal history in Caliente. Police rushed to the scene after neighbors of the Novak family reported hearing shouting and possible abuse and violence, to find Novak’s father- a local youth pastor- and two older brothers brutally beaten to death. Novak had fled the scene in a matter of minutes. His whereabouts remain unknown, but he is suspected to be behind several other murders in Nevada in the past year._

 

_Authorities found Novak’s vehicle a week later in the Upper Pahranagat Lake, with no clues to his location or destination. Investigators also searched his former home and properties where he was said to spend a majority of his time- but there was still no sign of Novak._

 

_[February 2nd, 2007- Aberdeen, Washington] [...] believed to be the work of Nicholas Novak, 17, who disappeared from his family home in Caliente, Nevada on December 24th, 2006 after brutally murdering his father and siblings. Several murders across the west coast have been attributed to Novak, including that of Gordon Walker [...]_

 

_[May 10th, 2009- St. Joseph, Missouri] A mysterious vigilante has been ‘cleaning up the streets’ of St. Joseph in recent weeks. Investigators believe the murders of several men and women can be linked back to a missing nineteen year old who murdered his family back at their home in Caliente, NV. He is said to go after known rapists and child predators. Police are still searching for clues as to who this man is._

 

_[July 22nd, 2011- Florence, Alabama] [...] woman reports the man that ‘rescued’ her from her attacker carried with him a “bloodied rag and a long, silver blade.” She also reported that this man told her to run as he stayed behind with her attacker. Similar reports across the country have been made in recent years about  a mysterious saviour wielding a long silver blade. Investigators have connected these to the serial killer the public has come to call the “Light Bringer.”_

 

_[November 15th, 2013- Ocala, Florida] After several murders against innocent people, the public have stripped away the name ‘Light Bringer’ from the unknown serial killer that was once ridding the nation of evil. A similar and seemingly more fitting name has been given. They have started to call this man “Satan”, after the devil. State police ask that you do not travel alone. This man is armed and dangerous and should be considered a threat in any and all circumstances._

 

“Innocent!” The shout was bellowed from Nicholas Novak as he tossed what was left of the newspaper across the room. Innocent… how dare they? How dare they assume to know who was innocent and who was not? They weren’t like him- they didn’t dedicate their lives to saving the people that needed to be saved, and exterminating those disgusting cockroaches that didn’t deserve to live.

As soon as he was able to find a newspaper, he had worried it in his hands so much the only remaining bundle was torn, tattered and unreadable aside from the small report about him.

So they were calling him Satan now. Nick gagged at the word. ‘Light Bringer’ had been much more fitting, something he wore as some sort of proud badge when he saw the name in the papers. People knew who he was, and they knew he was doing good. He was finally accepted, even if it wasn’t in the most conventional way.

But now- oh, but now they called him Satan, they called him the Devil, simply because they think they have the right to dictate who does and does not deserve to live. This thought occurs to Nicholas more than once, and he doesn’t care just how hypocritical it may be. It’s true. He has seen the darker side of humanity and they have not. He gets to decide, once and for all, who will hurt and who will be saved.

Gabriel did not deserve to hurt. Each day he reminded himself that he was doing this, all of it, for the little brother who would never have a chance to grow up.

Nick sat on the edge of the bed, eyeballing a stain he hoped was made by food. Five minutes until 11:00 am. Almost time to leave this shit motel and get back on the road. But the question in his mind was- where the hell would he go? The news reports were all about him. The only way he could get any more information on who he was going to go after next was if he managed to find a local library that was open on Sundays. Even then, he didn’t have nearly enough change to pay for a few hours to use their computers, and they were bound to ask why he was wearing gloves while he scrolled through news article after news article on any kind of serial anything.

Still- hitting the road in his beat up old station wagon was ten times better than staying here. This had been the first time in months he had enough cash to score a motel room, and still have some left over for food. It wasn’t where he preferred to rest, being more comfortable parked in his car and sleeping curled up in the backseat, but he previously planned on staying in Ocala much longer.

Now, it was time to leave.

He was sure to grab the essential items he never let leave his side: his leather gloves, the old oil rag now stained with different shades of brown and dark red, and his long silver knife he affectionately called his “angel sword”. Nick had bruises and scars on his leg from where the knife grazed his skin, but the pain was nothing. He could pull through. He always did.

The station wagon was parked out back behind the Motel 6, a dark red 1980 Volkswagen Dasher Diesel Wagon that Nick found, abandoned, two years prior. Dasher was his home, his pride and joy, the one stable thing in his life. The keys were cold in his hand, almost comforting, and as he slid into the beat up old seats and placed his palms against the steering wheel, he closed his eyes to savor the single thought that always entered his mind when he looked at his car- home.

With the purr of the engine throwing familiar vibrations against his skin, Nick took his time driving down to the Waffle House he’d found the night before. Horrible reviews aside, it had food, it had a television, and with just the right amount of luck, Nick could pick up some tips on a case in the area. The sooner he got out of this city, the better.

Places like these were known as ‘greasy spoon’ diners for a reason, and Nick staggered backwards from the overpowering stench of what he hoped was grease. If it wasn’t, then he wasn’t so sure he wanted to eat here. Though, did he really have a choice? With this kind of life, one didn’t have the pleasure of being picky.

Nick hopped up on one of the bar stools situated at the counter. He’d remembered to stash away his ‘equipment’ underneath the front seat. Walking into a Waffle House at midday with a bloodied rag and along knife made normal people ‘uneasy.’

The man sitting beside him, slightly overweight and smelling of booze and cigarettes, was reading the same paper Nick had destroyed earlier that morning in his rented motel room. Holding back a scoff, he gave his quiet order to the pretty waitress behind the counter. She tried to keep his attention by talking, and it took a few faked smiles and blue eyes traveling back down to hands folded in front of him for her to take the hint- Nick did not want to engage in conversation, thank you very much.

“You hear ‘bout this Satan guy?” asked Smelly beside him, angling the open paper to Nick, who was maintaining focus on the empty salt and pepper shakers in front of him. “Cleanin’ up the streets real good before. Now I think he’s just gone crazy.”

“Yeah, well, in a world like this, doesn’t take much,” Nick scoffed with his lips poised against the rim of coffee cup. The miss behind the counter brought it to him with a frown and he tried not to think about the fact that she probably spat in it. Wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.

Smelly snorted before returning his attention to the news article on the serial killer sitting beside him.

“Gotta be careful out there, boy. Can’t let the world kick you down and out. Don’t wanna end up like this maniac.”

Nick opened his mouth to shoot back a retort about how Smelly had no idea what the hell he was talking about, and who the hell did he think he was, giving Nick life advice?- when a plate clattered down in front of him.

Greasy grilled cheese was his one weakness, and even though the bread was stale and it almost tasted like it had been cooked in a pan that hadn’t been washed for centuries, Nick closed his eyes for a moment to savor the gooey, greasy cheese that melted perfectly in the middle. This was contentment.

On the television that sat overhead, the local news played on mute. The black blocked subtitles occasionally messed up a word, turning ‘first’ into ‘fertile’, and completely skipping a sentence so the statement no longer made sense.

_[...recently, reports have been made against a strange man who has been seen lurking around Saddlewood Elementary school, talking with children and trying to lure them away. Children are advised not to speak to this man, and newsletters have been sent to the parents of those attending Saddlewood. The identity of this man is unknown, but local police are keeping an eye out, hoping to make an arrest.]_

The way his heart quickened as he read the captions was not something that would happen in a normal person. Having come to terms with not being normal, however, Nick wasn’t worried about this reaction of seething anger (and the inevitable need to shank this man in the back of an alley).

A normal person would think “oh, how horrid. I hope someone catches this sicko soon!”, whereas Nick’s mind immediately went to, “I’m going to find him, gut him like a fish, and not a damn thing can stop me.”

Such healthy thoughts for a twenty-three year old.

Half of the grilled cheese sat, untouched, as Nick held out exact change for Miss, and Smelly gave Nick a quick farewell before he was on his way back to his car, fists clenched at his sides. Saddlewood Elementary school was already being scouted by local police, the report had said. Therefore, he would have to take special care to tail this man without the cops finding him first.

The scent of sandalwood and vanilla car air freshener that enveloped him once he was back in his car calmed his nerves, which had begun to buzz with anxiety so much Nick wasn’t able to think straight about the mission at hand.

Right. Saddlewood Elementary school. Nick reached for the map he had stored in the glove compartment and flipped through it. Judging by the distance, the drive would take him approximately fifteen minutes, and he growled a low swear in a foreign tongue. There was the possibility Lurker made his rounds during lunch- which was over with. Hopefully, though, his luck hadn't run out yet.

Nick found enough strength to crank the radio up as loud as it could go. The radio station he’d been listening to while in Ocala played classic rock, which he hummed along to. Drumming his long pale fingers against the steering wheel, Nick was able to find peace just for a moment. That’s always what he had to do. Peace before a kill, or he’d lose his mind. One day, when he was eighteen and still new to the job, he’d forgotten a moment of solidarity before going after some sick fuck that liked to prey on drunk gay men and fucked up, bad.

Someone had gotten a good look at his face, and just a day later a sketch that looked eerily similar to Nick was sent out to the local news. Nick hauled ass out of Dodge soon after, and waited until he had a good few states between him and his mugshot sketch before deciding it was time for a makeover.

Hair bleach, a shave, and gaining a good amount of muscle mass did him wonders, and since that moment, he was sure not to make that mistake again.

Dasher rattled down the streets. Nick was always careful to try and avoid taking as many back roads as he could. Anyone could report something they saw as ‘suspicious’, and he just couldn’t risk it. It’d become much easier to just do what he was best at. Blending in.

Traffic didn’t help the internal situation Nick had going on ten minutes later. His legs were shaking and his teeth clenched against his lip, which sent blood trickling down his chin. Stay calm. Stay calm. He had to chant over and over in his head. Now wasn’t the time to lose his shit. Doing that would result in having to wait for this hunt another day, or move on to another one. No, he would get this creep today.

After managing to finally steady his breathing, he was less than a minute from the school and could already tell this would be difficult. The police were on every corner, and Nick wasn’t at all fooled by the unmarked cars sitting at the ends of the street. As sick as the thought was, he hoped that the Lurker was just as clever. These idiots would let his ass rot in jail. Nick would prefer to leave him rotting in the streets behind a dumpster. In pieces.

Nick found a place to park his car where he wouldn’t be ticketed or towed (and, of course, where no one would be able to see him), and waited. While he waited, he sang to himself. This helped, most of the time. Waking up from nightmares as a child, his own mother would sing to him. It was always a comfort, now.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him pause. The possibility of being noticed if he turned and looked too quickly was too great. He adjusted his position in his seat just slightly, enough to be able to glance to his left and get a better image of who or what it was.

There was a man standing on the opposite side of the street. He didn’t look like much- fairly average body type, messy hair, stubble, and wearing a dark green hoodie and black sweat pants. Nick almost, almost shrugged it off, until he noticed the way this man was moving. He was twitchy and nervous and blowing huge puffs of air out of his mouth, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Drugs. Of course. Not only was this kid very clearly who Nick was looking for, but he must have been on something Nick wouldn’t recommend to anyone.

Lurker began pacing back and forth between a lamp post and a mailbox, as if he was waiting for something. He obviously knew people were looking for him at that point, or else he took too much brown acid. Nick reached for the door handle as soon as he saw the other man begin to change his course from walking in worried circles to a straight line towards the school.

No, wait. The man paused in the middle of the sidewalk and let out another big-cheeked breath of air. Nick’s hand was still positioned over the car-door handle. He was ready for whatever this man did, gloves already on and rag already slipped through his belt loop. Just as soon as he had started walking, he turned around and changed direction entirely, walking farther into the quiet neighborhood that sat just behind the school.

Away from the watchful eyes of undercover cops.

Nick smiled. If there were any at all over in the opposite direction, he’d be able to see them in time to turn the other way and pretend he wasn’t just about to kill someone. Easy.

He slid out of his car and was sure to keep a good distance between him and the other man, splitting his attention between his prey and the few cars that were on the streets. There was a long trail of alleyway between some of these homes, and even more trees he could use, if he needed. If he was fast enough, the other man wouldn’t even have time to shout for help. Everything would go over smooth, he would have pocketed some cash- most of it, he assumed, this man made by dealing- and he could leave this city.

Many of the homes looked void of their owners, another fact that worked in Nick’s favor. He paid careful attention to the sound of his own footsteps on the pavement below, stepping lighter when he could easily hear his feet scuff against the ground. The man in front of him had no idea. Not once did he turn around and question who was following him.

It was like this kid wanted to die. Nick couldn’t help but let this thought run through his head as he followed him down the road and behind a few homes, shielded by trees and hedges. This was too easy. All of this was way too easy. No other hunt had been like this. But he wasn’t going to question his ridiculous amount of luck. When it ran bad, he could. But certainly not now.

They were both far enough away from any of the homes to be heard, and Nick was close enough behind the kid to call out quietly to him. In any other circumstance, Nick was in position and waiting for his prey to come to him. This time, a trap was in order.

“Hey, Twitchy. What’cha on?” Best he could come up with on short notice, but it got the lurker’s attention. He whirled around, eyes wide and bloodshot and he seemed to be picking violently at his skin.

“Wh- not on anythin’. You a cop?” came the kid’s reply. His eyes were darting every which way and Nick huffed a faux-friendly sigh when he approached the other.

“Man, do I look like a cop? But did’ya hear about that creep at the school?” Being almost one hundred percent certain that someone was ‘your guy’ wasn’t enough. A confession would be. “Shame, ain’t it?”

Nick received the reaction he wanted. Like a deer in the headlights, the other man stopped moving. His eyes, still wide and questioning, met Nick’s and for a moment, Nick could swear he saw fear. This guy knew he was fucked.

“I-I didn’t…” Nick reached for the handle of his blade peeking out of his waistband. “C-can you blame him? Don’t you ever get those urges-”  
  
That was confession enough for Nick. Without another second of hesitation, he swung his blade out and made direct contact with his throat. A strangled cry escaped the deserving victim. Nick certainly couldn’t have that, so as he angled the blade upwards, he pushed it in to the hilt.

Blood poured out of the fresh wound, dripping from the blade to the ground, down the other man’s shirt. Nick maintained eye contact with a stony expression on his face when he twisted the blade. It was so easy, so peaceful to watch the life slowly drain from this man’s eyes, his expression becoming static and soon, he was no longer moving at all.

There was such a rush, a buzzing in Nick’s skull, when he knew a life was in his hands. This man had proven he wasn’t worthy of life. And so, he took it away from him in a matter of minutes. Nick was a hero and though no one saw him as one anymore… that rush would never go away. He would always crave this high. It was nothing like anything you could get from drugs.

He let the body drop to the ground, fishing through his pockets in search of a wallet. He sifted through piles of miscellaneous pills and tablets and, sure enough, enough cash to last Nick two weeks.

Wiping the blood from his blade and gloves with the stained rag that hung at his side, Nick took up a brisk pace to get to his car without being noticed. He didn’t want to have to blacklist another state off of his list. For the third time that week, he reprimanded himself for not taking the time to bleach his rag. One day someone was going to realize that was not just from his ‘chronic nosebleeds’.

The buzzing in and around Nick’s skull hadn’t ceased. He still felt slightly euphoric, and he knew how bad his crash would be as soon as he came down from it. It wasn’t a happy feeling, not at all. It was peaceful and mellow, but not happy. It was like he was feeling everything through a thick blanket.

Like everything was slightly numbed, muted. He was underwater and slowly drowning and thats how he wanted it.

It began to wane as he sat in his car, driving to only God knew where- all Nick knew was he was getting the fuck out of Florida, and wouldn’t be back for a long time.

On the long, three hour drive up into Georgia, his head stopped buzzing and soon the warm blanket that he was once wrapped in was torn away, leaving only depression and anger and that severe sense of self-loathing he’d had since Gabriel died. Nick gripped the steering wheel with, white knuckles, his teeth clenched. He was unable to sing to himself, fearing if he opened his mouth even the slightest, he would scream his throat raw.

Flipping open the overhead mirror, a small rectangular photo fluttered down to his lap. It was worn down not with age, but Nick’s hands worrying over it almost daily. He’d forgotten he slipped it there the day before, not wanting to expose it to the disgusting motel room or it’s stained sheets.

Nick paused, glancing away from the road in front of him for just a moment to pick up the photo with two shaking fingers.

Gabriel, twelve years old, was beaming up at him with his fluffy blonde hair and crooked grin. The picture had been taken less than a year before Gabriel ran away from the abusive hands of their older brothers and psychotic father. Less than a year before Gabriel was found, sexually assaulted and murdered three states away. Nick could feel his eyes begin to water as the bad memories he tried to push deep in the back of his mind began to surface.

Would Gabriel be proud of him? Would he be proud of what Nick had become after all of these years? Would he be happy that Nick was going after the same kind of people that killed his little brother?

He bit down onto his lip again and returned his gaze to the road. Gabriel would be proud of him. He would have to be… or else all of this was for nothing. This was to protect others from having to go through what Gabriel did, or what Nick went through in turn.

Setting the picture down in the center console, Nick tried to focus as best he could on the situation at hand. That was getting out of Florida and moving up the coast until he caught wind of another job.

The static on the radio that he'd been listening to soon faded into the soft voices of what sounded like a news broadcast.  Good. It was like an anchor that kept him grounded when he wanted nothing more than to jerk the wheel to the side and kill himself.

_[- such a shame. In other news, the serial killer once known as 'light bringer' is still on the rise. The public has come to call him Satan. Funny name, isn't it? I wonder how people got that to-]_

Some shitty radio talkshow gossiping about him, Nick thought as he flipped the radio back off.  That was the last thing he needed to hear...

"That isn't my name," he hissed. No one could hear him.  Even if they could, would they care? They wouldn't care that his name was N-

"Lucifer." He wasnt half aware that he spoke outloud, but the name suddenly came to mind and his spine tingled at the way it rolled off his tongue. It was a calm in between, meaning both 'Light bringer' and 'Satan' and it was something he could give himself.  Not the name his father had given him. Mother named the others after angels. Father hated that. Lucifer was an angel. Nicholas was the name he had been given by the man that dared lay hands on him.

The temporarily nameless man blinked a few times before speaking to himself again.

"Mother, my name is Lucifer." His gift to her. Maybe then she wouldn't be so disappointed. His name was now their secret, and no one would ever have to know.

Nicholas Novak was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a bunch to my beta Elly (gadrehell on tumblr)


End file.
